Assja Shotokalungin
it said, in copperplate. Above the name was an odd-shaped princely crown. I know that in the Caucasus, to the south-east of the Black Sea, there are still Circassian tribal chiefs who, under Russian or Turkish sovereignty, have kept the title of Prince.
The severe, eastern Aryan cut of her features, which recalled both the Greek and the Persian ideal, was unmistakable.
I gave another brief bow to my visitor, who was now sitting stretched out in an armchair by my desk; from time to time she ran her fingers idly over the Tula box. I watched them closely, for I was suddenly struck by the awful thought that they might move the box out of line with the meridian. They did not.
“Your wish is my command, Princess.”
Without warning she sat up straight in the chair, and again I was electrified by her bewitching, lambent eyes as she started to speak:
“I should tell you that Sergey Lipotin is an old acquaintance of mine. He catalogued my father’s collections in Yekaterinodar. It was he who awoke in me the love of finely-worked old objects. I collect old, how should I put it – old artifacts from the country of my birth: embroidery, wrought iron and ... and, especially, weapons; above all a certain type of weapon that is, I may say, very highly valued in my country. Amongst other things I have ...” her soft, rippling voice, with its alien accentuation which violated the cadences of German in a marvellously musical way, lapped over me like waves until my blood began to respond with a scarcely perceptible beat. For the moment what she said was a matter of complete indifference to me, but I found her accent intoxicating and that, I think, is why today it seems to me that I must have dreamed much of what was done and said – and possibly even thought – between us. Abruptly, the Princess broke off her description of her tastes as a collector, and came to the point:
“It was Lipotin who suggested I come to see you. He told me that you have in your possession a ... a very fine, a very precious, indeed, a venerable object: a spear, or rather a very finely-worked spearhead. It is inlaid with silver and gold. I know exactly what it looks like; Lipotin gave me a complete description. Perhaps he even acted for you when you acquired it. No matter” – she waved away my astonished protestations – “no matter; I wish to procure this spearhead. Will you let me have it? That is my request.”
The last words tumbled over her lips. She was sitting bent forward – “poised to spring” went through my mind. I was surprised, and permitted myself a momentary inward smile at the incomprehensible craving which makes collectors, as soon as they see, or even only scent, a desirable piece, crouch like a panther ready to pounce.
A panther! There is that word again! – John Dee did well when he dreamt up Bartlett Greene. His words stick in one’s mind.
But to return to my Circassian princess: she was rocking back and forward on the edge of her chair, her beautiful features a register of shifting emotions: expectation, gratitude, concern and overpowering flattery.
I could scarcely conceal my real sense of disappointment at the answer I was forced to give:
“Dear Princess, you see an unhappy man before you. Such a trifling request! Such a unique opportunity to be of service to a lady, to an enchanting lady who has so generously put her trust in me! I can hardly bring myself to tell you but I’m afraid I do not possess the aforesaid weapon, nor have I ever seen it.”
To my surprise, the Princess gave me a radiant smile; she leant towards me with an expression of patient indulgence, like a proud mother whose darling boy has just uttered a mindless fib, and whispered:
“Lipotin knows. I know. You are the fortunate owner of the spearhead, which I wish to acquire. I am sure you will ... sell it to me. I will be extremely grateful.”
“I feel awful to have to tell you this, my dear Princess, but Lipotin is wrong. Lipotin has made a mistake. Somehow Lipotin seems to have confused me with someone else. That is – –”
With one willowy movement the Princess stood up. She came towards me. Her walk – – yes, her walk! Suddenly it comes back to me. It was silent, with a rocking, springy gait and an incredible, flowing grace – – – where was I?
The Princess replied:
“It is possible. Of course. Lipotin must have made a mistake. He was not the one who purchased it for you. But that is irrelevant. You have promised to make a present of it to me.”
I felt my scalp crawl with desperation, but pulled myself together, determined with every fibre of my body not to arouse this beautiful woman to anger. She stood there before me, her wonderful, gold-flecked eyes wide with expectation, her smile exerting a force I had never felt before; I could hardly restrain myself from taking her hand to cover it with kisses or tears of frustration, frustration that I could not grant her wish. I pulled myself clumsily up to my full height, looked her straight in the eye and gave my voice as deep an expression of honest regret as I could:
“For the last time, Princess, I repeat that the spear, or rather spearhead, that you seek is not in my possession. It is true that at various times in my life my little enthusiasms have led me to collect various objects, but at no time, never, have I collected weapons, parts of weapons or, indeed, any kind of metalwork at all
